Of Passion and Potions
by sk987
Summary: Charlie is a workaholic on a dangerous journey. Can another workaholic convince him to return home?
1. Voyage

Hermione couldn't believe she had agreed to this. Sure, she needed a vacation, but she hadn't been planning on spending it hunting down Charlie Weasley.

Charlie Weasley was a dragon tamer – a _good_ dragon tamer. His colleagues had said he was the best, by far the most devoted to his work. But even they couldn't quite understand why he had taken off to the bitter cold of northern Russia, let alone without notice. A letter home to Molly Weasley said he was tracking down rumors of a few villages whose livestock had been slaughtered. The town heads had sent a message to the reserve he worked at, begging for help, and Charlie had packed his bags that evening. Then he was gone. Even if it turned out to not be a dragon, he wanted to find out what it was.

Every member of the Weasley family, including their spouses, children, friends… they had all visited Charlie, trying to convince him to give up the search. He turned them all away, claiming he was on to something here, and wouldn't be returning until he found the creature. In desperation, Molly had contacted Hermione at work. She had a vacation planned for a week from then, but the desperation in Molly's letter convinced her to unpack her swimsuits and beach clothes and start packing thick sweaters and long underwear.

So here she stood in the kitchen of the Burrow. She carried no luggage, though in fact she had several trunks worth of food and supplies for herself and Charlie in her pocket. Hermione prided herself on undetectable extension charms, and this one had been difficult. The pocket of her wool parka was filled with all manner of items, from socks to warm mince pies. She pulled a hand-knit cap over her short curls and tugged on her new gloves. Molly looped a scarf around her neck, gave her a hug, and threw some Floo powder into the kitchen fireplace grate.

Kissing Molly on the cheek, Hermione stepped into the fireplace and shouted 'Novym Vchera!" Tucking in her elbows, Hermione zoomed through the Floo network. She landed unsteadily on her feet in a small fireplace. Ducking under the mantle, Hermione emerged in a small bar. The woman at the bar smiled at her, and Hermione greeted her in rudimentary Russian.

"Dobry den. Zdravstvuyte kak dela?" (Good day. How are you?)

The woman smiled and responded in heavily accented English, "Good evening, my dear. Are you the one here for the dragon tamer?"

Hermione nodded, and the kindly woman poured her a shot of vodka. Hermione downed it quickly and reached to pay, but the woman stopped her.

"No, no, no. You do not pay here, my dear. Your dragon tamer is trying to save homes. You do not pay here."

"Ti takaya dobraya." (You are so kind)

"Your guide should be here soon, my dear. His name is Mikolai, very good guide. He'll have you to the dragon tamer before you know it."

Hermione thanked her and accepted another shot of vodka. She sipped at this one, waiting at the bar. Before too long, a snow covered man stepped into the empty bar. His coat had a fur collar, and his boots were caked with snow.

"Mikolai?"

He nodded gruffly, and beckoned her to come with him. Hermione dashed off a quick goodbye to the barkeep, who called after her to give his regards to the dragon tamer – "Tell him Domna hopes he is well!"

Hermione tried to start a conversation with Mikolai, but his English was bad, and her Russian was far worse. They passed most of the half hour trek in silence, and when they finally reached the small camp, Hermione paid the man and he left with an abbreviated bow.

Charlie's camp was a singular tent, smoke rising from a hole in the roof. Tentatively, Hermione called out Charlie's name, her voice barely carrying through the snow. There was rustling in the tent, and after a moment a head of flaming red hair poked out of the tent entrance. Charlie seemed surprised, and beckoned her in. Hermione shot him a grateful smile and settled herself on a low slung couch in the magically enlarged tent. They sat in silence for a few minutes as Charlie puttered in the tiny kitchen, making tea. Accepting her cup gratefully, Hermione stripped off her coat; the tent was rather warm, and the many layers Hermione was wearing were proving too much.

"My mother sent you." It wasn't a question, and Hermione nodded in response.

"Yes, she did. I didn't have much of a choice, really." Hermione sipped at her tea – chammomile – and waited for Charlie to break the silence.

"Let's hear the speil."

"Your mother's, or mine?" Hermione grinned.

"I hope you have something new for me, because I've heard my mother's speech more than a dozen times now."

"I don't think you should go home."

Charlie looked up at her, shocked, and Hermione continued. "I understand why you're here. It's the passion and love you have for your career, your dragons. I think your mother wanted me to come because I'm devoted to my work as well, but it's kind of backfiring on her. You need to be here, pursuing this lead, because it's what you do. I feel the same way about my research. I didn't leave my lab except to eat for almost two months when I was making that breakthrough on the Weedosoros poison antidote."

"I heard about that. You got some great publicity."

"Yes, as if I needed any more publicity. However, my point is, I understand why you're here, though poisons are, admittedly, vastly different from dragons. I don't begrudge you your passions, but you are unfortunately stuck with me for the next couple of weeks – your mother made me promise to work on your return home."

Charlie nodded and was silent for a moment. Then, 'Thank you, Hermione. It does ease the anxiety to know that you understand and won't be forcibly removing me from this wasteland. I just need to figure out if the creature attacking the villages is a dragon. Even if it isn't, I need to give the villagers some information. There aren't any dragon species native to this part of Russia, and if another species is migrating, the reserve and the Ministries need to know about it. I admit I should have brought a team with me, but I think I have a better chance of figuring it out on my own. I think I've finally tracked the creature to its home, and I'm going to try and catch it tomorrow. Actually, it's getting pretty late. I was getting ready for bed when you showed up."

Hermione apologized, and Charlie led her to the small bedroom. A cot-sized bed stood against one wall, and a trunk sat at the foot of it.

"You can sleep in here. I'll kip on the couch."

"Nonsense, Charlie." She pulled out her wand and waved it. As the bed grew, Hermione continued matter-of-factly, "I know how uncomfortable it is to sleep on a couch or on anything in a tent, really. I was camping all over Great Britain for almost a year, and the cold only makes the hard beds feel worse. Look, the bed is plenty big enough to share, with room for pillows between us. There's no sense in you sleeping on the couch, or me, for that matter."

Charlie sputtered a protest, but Hermione cut him off. "Charlie, I am twenty-six years old. I am no stranger to sleeping with men, I assure you." She started to take off her sweaters, and Charlie only managed to make it out of the door as she pulled her t-shirt off. He caught a glance of her freckled shoulders and curvy hips as he made it into the main room of the tent.

When he was sure Hermione would be dressed, he reentered the room. Hermione was sitting on the far side of the bed, square-rimmed reading glasses perched on her nose and her body wrapped in silky-looking pyjamas. She had a Muggle ballpoint pen between her teeth, and there was a sheaf of papers on her lap.

"What are those?" Charlie asked as he slipped into the other side of the bed, already in his nightclothes.

"Believe it or not, they're Severus Snape's personal research notes." She looked up at him over her frames, and scrutinized him. He bore evidence of being in the wilderness – a cut above the eye, stubble, and a general air of being unkempt. He had taken off his overshirt, and his tee slid up to reveal a long, faded scar that crossed his chest and dipped dangerously into his pyjamas.

"How'd you get a hold of them?"

"Legally. For all that Snape was a right git when he was teaching me, he left all of his personal research, potions paraphernalia, and the entire contents of his extensive library to me in his will. His will mentioned something about there being potential in my mind even if I was constrained by contemporary instruction – I wasn't much of an experiment undertaker in school. It's been four years since it was released to me, and I've yet to make it through a tenth of his research. It's informed a lot of my own personal work. His variation of the Weedosoros poison was my starting point for the antidote of the conventional brew. I owe the majority of my success to this man, as cruel as he was to Harry."

"He picked the right person to bequeath it to, then."

"I'd like to think I'm doing him justice. I've had his research on the Draught of the Living Death and a new restorative potion made public. He is getting credit where credit is due, even if he isn't around to take joy in it."

"Congratulations, Hermione."

"Thank you, Charlie." She made a small notation on one of the sheets, and slipped the sheaf into a file by her feet, which she bound with a leather thong. Tossing the folder down by the foot of the bed and her bag, she took her glasses off and placed them on the bedside table, stretching across Charlie to get to it. Her body briefly pressing against his told him she was not wearing a bra.

Hermione and Charlie settled into the enlarged bed, a pillow barrier between them. Murmured goodnights were soon replaced by steady breathing. The last thought that flitted through Hermione's head was that she would really rather like finding out what other scars Charlie had on his body.


	2. Discovery

Charlie woke up the next morning with something warm pressed against his chest. He blearily opened his eyes to find Hermione in the circle of his arms. He looked around briefly, blushing, and decided he must have migrated toward her in the night. The pillow barrier was discarded on the floor, and Charlie and Hermione were laying on the far side of the bed, where Hermione had falled asleep the night before.

He gently tried to ease away from her, but the witch shifted in his arms. Her head turned toward him, and her gently tousled hair and parted lips made Charlie ponder the possibility of staying in bed with her all day. He shook his head and managed to disentangle himself from Hermione, and then hurriedly dressed. He shouldered his rucksack and headed for the door.

When Hermione woke some hours later, she could not figure out why she was so cold, or why the hairs on the back of her neck were standing at attention. She blearily looked around, and noticed a silvery dragon floating my her knee. She sat up quickly in bed, recognizing the creature as a patronus, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

The dragon spoke with Charlie's voice. "Follow my patronus, Hermione. I have something to show you. Be quick. It's a few minutes walk."

Hermione jumped from bed and pulled on clothes over her pyjamas. She didn't bother to lace her boots as she raced after the dragon, still pulling on her coat and hat as she slipped out of the tent. A ten minute brisk walk and jog away, Hermione finally saw Charlie in the distance. She also heard a low, distinctive growling.

"Charlie."

"Hermione." He beckoned her closer, and she saw an odd shimmering not too far from his body. She focused her vision on it, and the snow-white, glistening form of a small dragon took form before. It was maybe four meters in height, ten meters long from its head to tail.

"Charlie! You – you found it!"

"This, Hermione, is a male juvenile Tundra Tiping. The nearest known breeding ground of these dragons is almost three hundred kilometers away. This young one has either endured a long journey, or was bought illegally and hatched around here."

Hermione was staring and the beauty of the dragon. His scales were iridescent, and blended almost perfectly with the snow around him.

"There are only about fifty of them known to exist in the wild," Charlie continued. "They aren't very harmful to humans, so they go pretty well unnoticed. Unfortunately, this area was pretty apt to notice their livestock going missing, or this Tiping might have lived here undisturbed for centuries. He's probably only about two years old. They get fairly massive, though not too much longer than this one here. Would you like to touch him? They prefer females, like many other magical creatures."

"Can I?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

"He's bound magically. Not too happy about it, but he won't hurt you. This species doesn't even breathe fire."

Hermione approached slowly, taking off her gloves in the process. She was within striking range of the Tiping when it raised its head and sniffed in her direction. Holding out her hand to the beast's snout, Hermione marveled at the warm breath of the creature and its massive scales, which were the size of her palm trailing down the flank. The creature seemed hesitant, but Hermione stepped closer. After a moment, it nudged her palm with its snout, and Hermione ran her hand over the scales, up to the head. Two tiny horns poked out of the dragon's skull, and they were warm to the touch. She ran her hand down the side of its head, and the dragon's eyes fell closed, enjoying the ministrations. As Hermione reached the shoulder, the Tiping's tongue darted out, wrapping around her wrist briefly before retreating. Its throat rumbled in something akin to purring as Hermione ran her hands over its chest, with scales the size of her palm. The dragon gave a shiver, and its camouflage fell away, leaving the dragon with a dusky gray colour that faded into dim greens and purples. It still shone magnificently, and Hermione was awed.

After a few minutes, Hermione stepped back, caressing the snout of the dragon again as she backed away. The dragon stared after her almost wistfully, and Hermione's heart swelled for the beautiful creature.

"What's going to happen to him, Charlie?"

"I've sent word to my reserve. They'll either find a place for him there, or one here closer to his own climate. There's a dragon reserve in Georgia, but they're really small, and end up sending some of their rarer captures to us because we're better equipped for a higher number of dragons." The only other reserve I can think of this far north is in Greenland, but they don't generally take in Asian dragons – they try to stick with species native to North America and the Arctic because they have a breeding program. They might make an exception, but in the meantime, this Tiping will come back to my reserve until a permanent home can be found. Unfortunately, this guy needs to be in captivity. He hasn't been able to learn the social skills of its breed, and reintroducing it to a kin – even if we could find them – could be deadly."

"When will your colleagues be able to come get him?"

"They're on their way now. Once they get here around dinnertime, they'll set up a temporary enclosure and it will be a few days until they get the necessary paperwork from the Russian minister. Then, they'll fly him to Romania."

"So you'll be going home after that?"

"I expect so. I'll visit Mum and Da for a day or two, then get back to work. I may see about taking the rest of the week off."

Hermione was silent, her mind whirring. After her connection with the Tiping, she had an irrepressible urge to see the dragon through. "Can I come stay at the reserve with you? I've never seen a dragon reserve before, and I want to see where the Tiping will be living."

Charlie looked thoughtful. He knew what the first emotional connection with a dragon felt like: he understood her desire. "I'll talk to my boss when we get back to Britain, but I don't see why not."

Hermione squealed and threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly to her. He caught her up and in her excitement she kissed him boldly on the lips without thinking. Charlie returned the kiss with gusto, and when they realized what they were doing, they broke apart awkwardly. "I – I'm sorry Charlie. I just got caught up with myself."

"It's fine, Hermione. I wasn't thinking,."

"Maybe we should head back to camp."

"Sure, yeah. Let me bring the Tiping along."

"You won't have to bother with the bindings, Charlie. He's not going anywhere."

Charlie looked at her curiously, but Hermione couldn't explain the warmth in her heart and the innate knowledge of the dragon's intentions. It understood their conversations, she just knew it, and it was happy with living around other dragons. She tried to put this into words, but all she could do was prove it to him.

"Release the bonds. If he tries to get away, you'll still be able to catch him again. There's nowhere for him to hide right now."

Charlie still looked hesitant, but he released the spell. The dragon shook itself from its snout to its tail, and looked at Hermione curiously. She held out her hand to him, and he slunk up to her, towering over her and Charlie. The Tiping nudged her hand again, and the two started off to the camp side by side, a bewildered Charlie shaking his head behind them.


	3. Decision

Once back in the tent, the Tiping curled up contentedly outside with a freshly slaughtered boar that Hermione had bought from one of the villagers, Hermione and Charlie delved into the research books. Charlie knew next to nothing about the breed, and Hermione needed to understand the connexion she had with the beast. It was almost supper when the two finally lifted their heads from the single tome Charlie had brought that discussed the Tundra Tiping. Hermione had checked on the dragon often, and it seemed content to lay outside the tent like an alarmingly large watchdog, poking its enormous head inside the tent every once it a while to confirm Hermione was still there.

As best the two could understand, Hermione and the dragon had imprinted on one another, much like female dragons do with their newborn young. The two could sense one another's feelings, to an extent, and Hermione had an almost psychic connexion with the Tiping. Nothing else could explain why Hermione had known the dragon would be calm and perfectly content with staying with them, unbound, and why Hermione felt an eerie sense of calm while in the Tiping's presence. The Tiping was only about two years old, Charlie had said, and if he hadn't made this connexion with his mother or any other creature in his time alone in the wilderness, then it was entirely likely. What this would mean for either of them could only be theorized, but for now it meant a docile Tiping slumbering outside their tent.

Hermione was heating up some of the food Molly had sent for an early supper when she heard the sound of Apparition outside the tent. She called to Charlie to go check it out, as she couldn't leave the tiny, temperamental stove. Charlie came inside ten minutes or so later with the news that his colleagues had arrived and would be settling in at the inn for dinner. He had explained to them the strange situation, and while they were perplexed, they understood. One of his colleagues in particular, Regine, was interested in meeting her.

Hermione shrugged on her coat and pulled on her boots, not bothering to lace them all the way. She tucked her short curls into a cap and went outside. The Tiping nuzzled against her briefly, and she continued to the small cluster of dragon keepers. There were six of them total, and Regine was the only woman. She had startling blue eyes, and Hermione could tell she kept her hair close cropped. She was bundled in leather, and flashed a warm smile when Hermione approached the group.

Introductions were made, and then the two women excused themselves. They exchanged pleasantries, and then Regine jumped right in with her lilting Scottish accent.

"Charlie tells me you've imprinted with this Tiping."

"We suspect that is the case, yes."

"I imprinted with a foundling dragon when I first started at the reserve, almost eighteen years ago. I hatched it myself. The dragon, a Swiss Scaler, has been released into the wild, going on seven years now, but I can remember what it feels like still. It's pure magic, isn't it?"

"Absolutely. What will this mean, though? What will happen when we are separated?"

"It's different with every pair. Imprinting with a dragon is rather rare. It only happens three or four times a century, mainly because it is so rare to find a young enough dragon in the wild. You're one of two people I've heard of this happening to in the past fifty years. But in my experience, it wasn't that difficult. It's kind of like being away from a relatively close cousin – it warms your heart, seeing them every once in a while, but it's not necessary to live your life well."

"That's encouraging. Do you think I'll be able to see him occasionally? Charlie said he'd have to discuss the situation with his boss."

Regine laughed loudly. "Hermione, _I'm_ Charlie's boss, and it's perfectly fine. Come whenever you like. Anyway, Charlie deserves a real vacation after this find. He's off for the next week. You can come up to see your dragon when he returns to his duties. Enjoy the time. The Tiping is in good hands."

Regine and the crew left not long after dinner. Charlie and Hermione had expected them to stay till morning, at least, but Regine needed to get back to the reserve as soon as possible. Hermione said goodbye to her Tiping, which grumbled a bit, but it went along willingly. There was an unspoken understanding that they would see each other again.

The camp was very quiet after the dragon tamers left. Hermione was curled up by the tent's fireplace in a thick sweater and jeans, thumbing though Snape's research. Occasionally, she would reach over to scribble a hurried note on a pad of paper (much more convenient for travelling than parchment) or nibble on her lower lip. Charlie was pouring a mug of tea for her when she finally spoke.

"Regine said I could come back to the reserve with you next week. Is that alright with you?"

"Of course, Hermione. I love sharing the reserve with people – it's something most of the wizarding world doesn't think about too often. We'll find someone for you to stay with when we get there. Unfortunately, there isn't guest lodging. We do have a few dragon keepers who are women, and I'm sure you can kip in their cabins."

Hermione found herself biting her lip a little harder than previously, and her heart seemed to droop a little, though she didn't quite understand why. She packed up her research and told Charlie she was going to turn in early – it had been a long day. He bid her a goodnight and told her he would be in before long, and she slipped into the bedroom.

It had been almost a year since Hermione had been intimate with someone, though not for lack of trying. High standards were something to be proud of, and she had had no desire for uncomfortable fumblings or hasty embraces. But now, she was yearning for sheer physicality. Unpacking her pyjamas, Hermione decided that she was going to see if the impulsive kiss she and Charlie had shared earlier was an indication of a deeper physical connextion. Romance was just a bonus at this point; Hermione was hungry. She slipped under the covers and dozed off minutes before Charlie entered, thinking of the Tiping.

Charlie almost groaned out loud when he saw her sprawled out on her stomach on the bed. It was warm in the bedroom, as always, and only Hermione's legs were covered by the down blanket. Her body was clad in a satiny material, dark purple. Charlie could see hints of lace around the hem where it stood out against the pale skin of her upper, _upper_, thigh. Her face was turned away from him, but her curls were tousled from her restlessness. Charlie tore his eyes away from the curve of her lower back and buttocks with difficulty, slipping into his own pyjamas.

Now came the task of getting into bed. He was fully aware that his body was stirring feebly as he tried to ease into the bed beside her. Hermione had left very little room on either side of her, choosing to curl up in the dead center of the bed. Charlie thought it remarkable how such a petite woman could take up so much space. Pulling the covers up to his chest, Charlie tried to ease Hermione over a few inches, but was startled to find himself in her embrace as she shifted in her sleep. She was now facing him, her face buried in his chest and her breath hot on her skin. He tried to extricate himself, but Hermione only whimpered in her sleep and pulled him closer with a hand on his chest.

Silently, stiffly, he lay there, hoping she would roll over but at the same time desperate for the contact. Charlie had not been lying – there were few female dragon keepers and even less time to pursue a relationship. His last serious relationship had been, well, almost three years ago now. She had been a fellow dragon keeper on loan from another reserve when one of Charlie's colleagues had been in an accident. She left after three months, when Gregg had returned to work, and Charlie rarely heard from her. Their last letter exchange had been more than six months ago.

His mind flew away from his former fling when Hermione murmured his name sleepily. His heart skipped a beat as Hermione cuddled closer to him. He shifted slightly, carefully, to place his arm under her head, and she readily fell into the cradle of his arm, still seemingly asleep. After several long minutes waiting to see if the witch awoke, Charlie fell into a deep sleep.


	4. Impulse

WARNING: Explicit content

It was a hazy morning when the two awoke late into the next day. Charlie had hardly gotten sleep since coming to Russia, and welcomed the warm bed, and the warm witch beside him. _The warm witch beside him_. His eyes flew open as he recalled falling asleep with Hermione in his arms. She was currently flung halfway across his chest, her head on his shoulder and a hand resting on his ribcage. The blanket was flung from their feet and legs, and her cold toes were pressed against his calf. Hermione shifted slightly in her sleep and her face turned toward his, allowing Charlie a perfect view of her pouty lips, slightly parted. The short brown curls were tousled and her breath felt wonderful as it tickled his neck and cheek.

He then became painfully aware of his morning erection as he spied the fullness of her breast slipping out of the bodice of her nightgown. He could see the dark pink of her areola barely showing above the purple lace, and almost groaned aloud when she shifted again, this time to roll over. He took a chance and rolled over to embrace her again, a hand on her hip under the blanket, and was thankful she didn't wake up. Charlie watched her sleeping for a few minutes, his mind wandering. He was just about to extricate himself for a much-needed cold shower when she slid backwards a few inches, bringing her pert and plentiful buttocks firmly against his erection. He groaned and unconsciously pressed against her and gripped her hip tighter.

Unknown to Charlie, Hermione had only been drowsing for the last few minutes. She had woken up completely when he had groaned. After a few moments, Hermione made a decision and pushed back against his body. Charlie gasped and tried to pull away, and Hermione rolled over to face him, her sleepy eyes fixed on his. Charlie was blushing and staring at her, and Hermione took advantage of his stalling to sit up and pull her nightgown completely away from her body.

Her breasts were petite like the rest of her body, but full, tipped with rosy nipples that stood at attention in the cool room. Charlie groaned again as Hermione bit her lip and her gaze roved over his body. She reached out to touch his abdomen, where the huge scar that had fascinated her the first night thinned out and headed toward his pyjama bottoms. Charlie flinched and gasped, pulling away slightly, and Hermione removed her hand, worried she had gone too far. However, Charlie instead reached out to grab her wrist when he saw the disappointment in her eyes, and placed her hand back on his stomach. Hermione smiled briefly and leaned down to kiss his chest where the scar began. Charlie growled roughly and pulled her up by the arms, crushing his lips to hers and drawing a moan from the witch. She kissed him as ferociously as he did, their lips battling and gasps filling the tent. Hermione's hands were in his hair, his wandering down her back to grasp the cheeks that had mesmerized him. He pulled her tight against his body and rolled her on top of him. She sat up, breathless, and Charlie took the opportunity to take her breasts into his hands, thumbing the hard nipples and making the witch squirm on top of him. He bucked underneath her as she writhed against his erection.

They rolled simultaneously, bringing Hermione underneath him as she tugged his pyjamas down. His erection sprang free and Hermione slid down his body, licking and nipping her way down his chest. She flicked her tongue against the tip of his penis, wrapping her hand around the considerable girth. Although not the longest she had ever handled, Charlie was certainly had the most girth. She smiled wickedly up at him, playing with her own nipples, and then sank her mouth wetly onto his erection. Charlie groaned loudly, threading his fingers through her short hair. He scarcely breathed as Hermione worked her way up and down his erection, occasionally grazing her teeth along his length or humming deep in her throat. Charlie's eyes rolled back in his head as Hermione brought him so close to his edge, and then backed off completely.

Growling again, Charlie flipped Hermione onto her back, laying down on top of her and suckling her nipples. She writhed underneath him, causing his erection to slide tantalizingly along her wet folds. Charlie bit down on her fleshy breast, and at her loud moan, bit his way down her ribcage and stomach. His hands forced her legs wide apart as her chest heaved, and she screamed aloud when his tongue first separated her folds. She pushed his head against the apex of her thighs as his tongue worked her clitoris. Charlie was a bit out of practice, but soon had Hermione panting his name, two fingers slipping in and out of her body and his mouth latched around her clit. He refused to pull away as she screamed and started to shake. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she trembled with her orgasm, her toes curling and her nails digging into the back of his neck. Charlie rode it out with her, his tongue still caressing her and his fingers slowing inside her body.

Not sated, Hermione pulled him up her body until his weeping erection was pressed against her entrance. Charlie stalled, and stared into her limpid eyes.

"Hermione, if we do this, I can't turn back."

"You think I don't know that, you bloody fool? I want you in my life, and not just because you're amazing at oral sex. I would have left yesterday if I hadn't wanted to see this through. Now get on with it – I need you."

Charlie kissed her, biting her lip roughly as he thrust into her hard, harder than he had planned. She arched up off the bed, gasping, and wrapped a leg around his hips. Her eyes were open wide, her pupils dilated, and Charlie stalled, lost in the heat of her body and eyes. Hermione was having none of this and bit him hard on the neck, spurring him into action. Her hands on his shoulders, Hermione's erotic gasps spurred Charlie on. He thrust steadily and deeply, feeling her walls tighten around him as he pulled away. Faltering as Hermione ran her tongue around the shell of his ear, Charlie's eyes fell closed and he groaned her name. He shuddered as the witch continued to lave his ear, tracing her tongue down his neck to bite the place where his neck met his broad shoulder. His arms went around her, pulling her tightly to him as he rolled them over and sat up. Hermione took the hint and rocked back and forth on him, the new position driving him crazy. They shifted awkwardly until his back was against the headboard, and Hermione continued to move on his lap, his erection deep inside her. Charlie bit her breasts again, leaving vivid bruises, and his hands gripped her arse cheeks, pulling her tighter against him and making her moan. As her breathing came quicker, Charlie moved a hand around to thumb her clitoris. Hermione jerked on top of him and her nails dug into his shoulders, scratching down his chest and leaving welts.

Hermione's inner walls tightened almost painfully around him as she shuddered and orgasmed again. Charlie could hold himself back no longer, and started to thrust up into her. After seven or eight thrusts, Charlie dug his fingers into Hermione's buttocks and spurted his seed deep into her pliable body.

They fell apart, panting, a few moments later. Hermione's legs were splayed across Charlie's lap, her chest heaving. Charlie's eyes roved along her body, a smile playing on his lips.

"Thank you, Hermione."

"Why are you thanking me?"

"Because that was amazing, and I hadn't realized how much I needed the release. I feel like my old self again."

"Likewise, Charlie Weasley." Hermione's eyes fell closed, and Charlie continued to stare at her as her muscles visibly relaxed.

"Hermione?" Hermione hummed in response, and Charlie continued. "Let me take you out tonight."

Hermione opened her eyes. "I'm not expecting a date, Charlie. Don't feel like you have to just because we did this. It's not going to make it any less awkward."

"I don't feel that awkward, Hermione, and I'm not doing this because I feel guilty or anything, I'm a better bloke than that. I _want_ to take you out, show you the kind of relationship you deserve."

Hermione smiled a bit and sat up. She kissed him lightly on the cheek, and nodded her consent. "Later tonight, then. But first, I want to know if you're up for round two." Charlie's smile was answer enough.


	5. Romance

Their lazy day in bed ended a few hours later, and they packed up the tent fairly quickly. The trek to the pub in town was slow, because Charlie and Hermione kept stopping every few minutes to snog. Eventually they made it back to Domna's little bar, where she threw them a magnificent smile and offered them some vodka. Charlie turned her down in his graceful Russian, and Domna leaned over the bar to peck him on the cheek. He slipped her a few rubles and she handed over an earthen pot with Floo powder in it.

"Upstairs," she murmered, gesturing with her head.

As they walked up a rickety staircase, Charlie explained that Domna catered to both magical and Muggle patrons, and the other bundled up folks downstairs must have been Muggles. Hermione nodded along and they entered a small parlor with a larger fireplace than the one in the bar. In the chilly room above the Russian bar, Charlie and Hermione bid each other farewell. They would see each other at eight that evening, but it was a tender farewell just the same.

Stepping into the fireplace, Hermione called out the address of her home – "27 Picadil Park, Bishop's Castle" - and zoomed off. She had her eyes open for one last glance at Charlie, but they burned with the ash from the Floo network, and she shut them, landing moments later in the fireplace of her parlor.

It was a modest place: two bedrooms on the second floor, a small kitchen and study in the back of the first floor, but Hermione had capitalized on the largest room in the house – the parlor – and installed floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, lining each wall. They were her pride and joy, and Hermione spent hours in here, curled up on the fluffy couch tucked into a corner. Each shelf was filled to bursting with all manner of magical and Muggle tomes, from Dostoevsky to Scamander and Bronte to Waffling. Stepping into this room, Hermione was at once filled with a warmth – that inexplicable feeling of being at home.

Wandering down a short hallway, Hermione unpacked her luggage into the kitchen. She disrobed of her coats and extra clothing in this room, tossing them into a cubby off the back door where she kept her wellingtons and other manner of bad-weather clothing. Padding up the stairs that branched from the kitchen, Hermione stripped off her clothing piece by piece, until she was stepping into a hot shower.

The hot spray eased away the cold of the harsh Russian terrain, and Hermione luxuriated in being home again. Her mind wandered to her morning with Charlie and the brilliant connection with the Tiping, and she smiled and hummed to herself. When finally she stepped out the shower, skin steaming, it was only eleven in the morning. She dressed in grungy clothes, intending to get work done, and made some tea. She brought it into her study after rummaging around her luggage for the folder of Snape's research, and settled in at her worktable.

This room was also lined with bookshelves, though only half of them contained books. Several others were filled with neatly labeled phials and jars. Rather than an assortment of literature, these shelves contained nothing but texts on potion-making. An entire bookshelf next to the only window was filled with Snape's personal research, comprised of loose parchment, bound folders, bottled potions. Cauldrons and measuring instruments littered the area, as well as an open text on the worktable. Hermione settled down in front of this text, drawing up a padded, straight-backed chair and immersing herself in the print.

When Charlie appeared in the fireplace of his modest cottage in Petrila, Romania, where the dragon reserve was located, He stepped into a cold room. He had been gone for a while, and the fine dust and stale bread was evidence of this. He unpacked quickly, then wandered off to find his boss and report his return.

Regine was pleased at his timely return, but spared all tact, jumping in and asking about Hermione.

"When is the delightful Ms. Granger coming to visit her Tiping? He's in his own paddock right now, don't want to introduce him too soon to the pack."

"I don't know exactly when, but I can ask her tonight."

"Charlie Weasley," Regine laughed, "You never miss an opportunity, do you?"

"I'll never know until I jump in." He knew it was corny, but there was a spark between them, something that could prove to be magical. "In the meantime, I'm going to go work with the Tiping. Maybe Hermione's luck with the beast will rub off on me and I can get him settled."

Charlie wandered off with Regine's consent, and found his way to the Tiping fairly quickly. Since he was such a small dragon, they were keeping him tucked away from the full grown dragons, in a breeding pen. The beast was currently curled up in a corner of the pen. It seems he had finished exploring his new quarters and instead was content to nap the afternoon away. When Charlie approached, however, the Tiping lifted its graceful head, and it seemed as if he smiled at Charlie. It tilted its head curiously, shook it as if to dislodge a pest, and lay back down. Charlie grinned, suddenly feeling warm despite the chill of Romanian weather in January, and levitated into the Tiping pen some of the comforts of home: a few huge blankets and brush which the Tundra beast could burrow in. Rather than the caves other dragons favored, Tundra Tipings were thought to burrow in heavy vegetation for cover. Trees were the perimeter of the reserve, but since this beast could climb trees fairly easily due to its small size, there were none nearby to his pen to avoid his potential escape. Dragons didn't often break out from the reserve, but the last time had been disastrous for the reserve, lots of memory modification in the neighboring villages, and having to bewitch the Romanian Prime Minister (not to mention his aides) into dismissing the accident as a wildfire.

Charlie finished settling the Tiping down and retreated to his hut for a few hours, to await his evening with Hermione. While lonely, the cottage was home, and Charlie cleaned it quickly, and settled down to a small lunch. The food Molly had sent would have to last him a week or so, before he could hop on the next trip down to the village for supplies.

After lunch, he went to the bathhouses for a long shower, and then settled in for a nap before going to see Hermione. He drifted off into a pleasant sleep, and awoke at half past six that evening. After some useless attempts to tame his red curls, Charlie gave up. He dressed warmly but casually in a thick cabled sweater and jeans, tucking the legs into his worn leather boots. One of the new Molly Weasley scarves and his wool jacket bundled him against the biting weather, and he headed off to the central reserve Floo at the main lodge around 7:30. Within moments, he was Flooing into Hermione's house.

He smiled at the sight of all the books, shook the soot off of his clothes, and ventured into the room. He ran his hands over the spines of some of the tomes and announced himself. "Hermione? I'm here." There was no response, and after a few minutes of perusing titles, he tried again. Still nothing, though there were lights on down the hall. Shrugging out of his coat, Charlie ventured down the hall, passing a small kitchen with a still steaming kettle on the range. In the last room, Hermione was sitting on the floor, humming along to something that appeared to be coming from the strange strings hanging from her ears. She was surrounded on all sides by stacks of books and small vials of ingredients. What looked like a Muggle fishing tackle box was open to her left, full of plant pieces and twisted bits of metal. Her glasses were on the very tip of her pixie nose and there were parchments covering her lap. Her t-shirt was ratty and full of holes and was overlarge on her, hanging off one of her shoulders. Amusingly, it appeared to be one of Victor Krum's old Quidditch practice jerseys. He vaguely recalled that the two had made headlines not long after the war, after Hermione had dumped Charlie's younger brother Ron. They had dated for a brief time, and it had ended in a scandal – no doubt a small row that had been exacerbated by Witch Weekly and other such tabloids.

Charlie knocked loudly on the door frame, and Hermione looked up and jumped, papers in her hands and on her lap flying. Charlie smiled, and Hermione burst into laughter, taking the strange contraption from her ears.

"Sorry, Charlie. I lost track of time. Last I looked at a clock, it was only three in the afternoon."

"What are you working on?"

She wiped a small hand across her face and looked up at him. "It's a potion trying to duplicate the effects of Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem. Snape did a lot of research on the powers of the remaining objects of the four founders, and it seems like he was on to something with the diadem. I'm altering the Felix Felicis potion – you know, liquid luck – and trying to create a dose of wisdom, effectively. I haven't gotten it right yet. The last time I tested it, before I came to get you, I could only produce an hour or so where I was just extremely focused. It wasn't a helpful focus, though. I must have painted my toenails four or five times before it wore off. It's missing something… I just haven't figured it out yet."

"And that's what all this is?"

"Yes, bits and pieces. I've tried five different variations of the potions, and I have notes on each one."

"I know you'll get it, Hermione."

"Thanks, Charlie," she flashed him a glowing smile and stood up. "I'm going to get ready. You want a tour first?"

"I'd be delighted."

Hermione took him by the hand, and showed him the first floor. In the small, cramped kitchen, Hermione offered Charlie tea, and they headed up to the second floor with their mugs. Hermione showed him the guest room – mainly used by his sister Ginny nowadays – which was decorated, like much of the rest of the house, with bookshelves. The bedding was dark and inviting, and in sharp contrast to Hermione's room, which they entered last. It was airy, with white down bedding and pillows on an enormous four poster bed. Gauzy hanging surrounded it, and a thick piled tan rug covered most of the wooden floorboards. Charlie recognized his sister-in-law's paintings on the wall, and the white curtains were blowing in a slight breeze. The room was feminine, but not overly girly, and the clean lines seemed to suit Hermione well. The color in the room was lent by the brightly colored spines of books that lined the wall on either side of the door.

Hermione bid him farewell in this room, asking him to wait in the library for her as she took a quick shower and dressed. Since cutting off her hair, showers were quick and easy. She was out in minutes, her short locks still dripping as she padded naked into her closet, which had been magically expanded. Over her knickers went a pair of tight-legged jeans and a pair of heeled ankle boots. A long-sleeved, white shirt was topped with a thick black sweater and a delicate silver necklace. As she walked downstairs, she ran her hands through her hair, styling it easily.

Charlie's back was to her as she stepped into the living-room-turned-library, and he didn't turn until Hermione cleared her throat. Closing the book in his hands, he replaced it quickly and spun around. A grin broke across his freckled face, and Hermione smiled back.

"I'm just going to get my coat and wallet, and then we can go." Charlie nodded and followed her back into the kitchen with his teacup. Her wallet was on the rough-hewn butcher block in the center of the kitchen, along with a ring of keys. Hermione walked into the mudroom to get her coat – a high-collared, camel coloured wool number – and slipped her keys and wallet into a pocket. A blood red pashmina scarf looped around her neck and Charlie could see black gloves poking out of a pocket. She looked up at him and he smiled, then indicated they should get going.

"I made dinner reservations for 8:15. We should head out."

"Where are we going?"

Charlie just smiled and asked, "Can we Apparate out of here?"

"From the front step."

They moved out of the house and onto the small porch, and Hermione found herself wrapped in Charlie's arms.

"Close your eyes."

The world shrank around them, and Hermione felt the familiar sensation of being forced through time and space, like they were being shot out of a cannon. Hermione stumbled a little in her heels when they landed, but Charlie's arms wouldn't let her go too far. She looked up and saw neon lights and dark buildings. It seemed they were in a city center, but Hermione didn't recognize the language written on the signs.

"Where –"

"Bankok. Thailand. I remember you saying something this morning about liking Thai food, so I figured we'd get the full experience."

"So is this a magical area?"

"Yes. A buddy of mine at the reserve is from this area. His name is Aran, and he brought a ton of local dragon eggs to the reserve for us a few years back. He's cooked for me and some other dragon keepers in the past, and I'm really excited to bring you to the restaurant he recommended. It should be close by."

It was hot – January was a warm month in Thailand. They took off their coats, sweaters, and scarves and slipped them into Hermione's wallet and pockets.

"Is it a casual place?"

Charlie shook his head, and Hermione slipped into an alley and transfigured her clothes. Her jeans and long shirt transformed into a short dress. Hermione's curves were hugged tightly by the red fabric and it plunged fairly low at the neckline. She kept her heeled boots unchanged, and rejoined Charlie, who had swapped his jeans and shirt for a nicer button down and slacks. Charlie reached for Hermione's hand as they started off down the busy street. Before long, Charlie led her into a brightly lit restaurant. It was small, but cozy. Detailed paintings decorated the walls, and they were led to a corner booth when Charlie addressed the hostess with rudimentary Thai.

As they sat down, Hermione remarked, "You seem to know a lot of different languages, Charlie."

He nodded. "Our dragon keepers come from just about everywhere. Aran taught me a bit of Thai, and I learned Russian the hard way the first week I was there." The waitress came and took an order from Charlie. When she left to fetch their drinks and appetizer, Charlie continued. "I also learned Gaelic growing up. I spent a few summers with my grandparents in Cork. They passed away when I was six, but not before I was as fluent as a six year old could be. The only language I can speak fluently is French. I was fortunate enough, as the second child, to have the opportunity to go to summer camps. Mum and Da let me go to a nature camp for a couple of years in the mountains of France the first few years of Hogwarts. It was wonderful."

"You have such a talented tongue," said Hermione, winking at him over her water goblet.

Just then, the waitress brought along a plate of something that smelled spicy and delicious, and Charlie spoke with her for a moment before she whisked off again.

"This is a kind of shrimp eggroll. No eggroll wrapper, it's a leaf of some local plant. And this," he lifted a glass, "is a local wine. Thailand is famous for beers and whiskeys, but this is a relatively new venture here."

Hermione sipped at hers. It was a dry white, with hints of citrus lingering on her tongue.

"Delicious!"

Charlie nodded.

"So, Mr. Weasley," Hermione drawled, forking a bite of the delicious food into her delicate mouth, "tell me. Why dragons? Why not flobberworms, or heaven forbid a desk job?"

Laughing loud, eyes crinkling at the corners, he nodded. "I know. It's a pretty crazy career choice, but I've always loved magical creatures. I used to spend so much time at Hogwarts prowling around the forest, cataloguing animals I saw, what they were doing. Hagrid came upon me several times, and we talked about everything – including dragons. Something about the stories he told me just sparked. I spent a couple of years working at Eyelops Owl Emporium after graduation, and then took a risk and applied at the reserve. I've been there for longer than I can remember, years and years now. I jumped in, and I have no desire to get out."

They talked about dragons and Hermione's research for almost an hour. During that time, they shared a delicious red curried beef, the creamy coconut and spicy chilies making their mouths water with every bite. They were nibbling on sticky rice and fresh mango when Charlie suggested they move on from the restaurant. Hermione offered to pay, but Charlie waved her away and placed a handful of coins on the table, counting out the Galleons. Fortunately for them, magical Bangkok accepted currency from all known wizarding communities.

They walked out of the restaurant hand-in-hand, and Charlie twirled Hermione into his arms on the sidewalk.

"Let's get back to my place," Hermione suggested quietly. "We can have a nightcap."

Charlie nodded and allowed Hermione to Apparate them back to her doorstep. It was much, much colder in Bishop's Castle, and they hurried into the house, still in their cool clothes. Hermione lit the fire with a wave of her wand, and Charlie followed her into the kitchen, depositing their coats in the mudroom. Hermione slipped out of her heels and sent them zooming off upstairs as she rummaged in a low cabinet by the icebox.

"I have an amaretto or cognac."

"Whichever you prefer."

Hermione straightened up with Di Saronno Originale in her hand and directed Charlie to a cabinet with tumblers in it. The amaretto went into glasses, which were warm to the touch after Hermione tapped a finger against the sides of the glasses. They took the glasses into the library, where they curled up on the couch. Hermione took a long sip and set her tumbler on a table that Charlie hadn't noticed before. Charlie tasted his, and the lingering taste – almost like that of almonds – filled his senses. Setting it on the table, Charlie instead picked up Hermione's feet. He rubbed his knuckles into her arches, and the groan she emitted was enough to grab the attention of Charlie's body. Hermione seemed to realize this and toned down her groans of pleasure. They sparked up a conversation about Muggle literature and whiled away some time as they finished their nightcap.

"– and I always found Dickens so boring and stuffy. I see why he was popular but it never –"

Charlie leaned over Hermione's body and cut her off with a kiss.

"Hermione, I hope you know that I really am interested in a relationship with you, but I think it would be in our best interests if I leave soon. You're so damn irresistible, and I don't want to risk this degenerating into a purely physical relationship."

"Well-spoken, Charlie, and thank you. I was going to suggest the same thing before long."

She inched her hand up to the back of Charlie's neck and then drew him back down into her for another kiss.

He stood up and went to collect his coat. Hermione padded along after him, and she found herself pressed against the countertop with a searing kiss from Charlie. He broke the kiss slowly and pecked her once more on the lips.

"Goodnight, Hermione. Thank you for the wonderful evening."

"Thank _you_, Charlie. You were amazing. Send me an owl or something."

"Of course, love." He kissed her lightly and headed for the Floo. He zoomed away as Hermione watched from the doorway.


	6. Revelation

It was well past two in the morning when Hermione finally tumbled into her bed, pulling a quilt from the chest at the foot of her bed to add some additional warmth. After a shower and another hour or two of research, she was content with her day's work – and her day's play. Ever since the war, Hermione had made a personal pact to do at least two hours of something fun per day; she often failed at this, but the days she succeeded were sweet. Hermione thought she could get used to Charlie being part of her daily fun.

Charlie was thinking along similar lines. By Muggle transport, the trip from England to Romania took almost two days. Apparation took only moments, but it was physically, mentally, and magically exhausting. In order to keep up with his tasks at work, he'd only get to see Hermione one – maybe two – days a week if he were to stay on his game with the dragons. He wasn't lucky enough to be self-employed like Hermione, but he would be damned if he'd let that get in the way. Mulling over the distance with a mug of tea, it was late when Charlie finally hunkered down on his narrow bed for the night.

Hermione's Tiping got into a fight with a juvenile Horntail the next day, and Charlie's hands were full for the next few days. Although the Tiping was small, it had a great defense, and the Horntail wasn't likely to go back for seconds. Charlie spent almost a full day trying to restrain the Horntail, and hours trying to bandage the wounds. The Tiping's fangs appeared to be poisonous, and though it wasn't the most potent poison Charlie had seen, it was certainly annoying when trying to heal a five-ton beast with wounded pride. It was almost a week later when Charlie managed to send off an owl to Hermione, and another two days before he heard back.

_Charlie-_

_I'd love to see you again, and soon, but I think I've finally hit a breakthrough on my potion, and I don't want to be far from my lab in case something goes wrong – or better, I figure it out. I want to see the Tiping again, but I can't afford a visit away from England right now, I'm barely leaving the house._

_I'm hoping to be through with this leg of the potion by Thursday. I'll owl you again, and we'll find some time. I have a great place in mind to take you – my treat this time. Keep an eye out for my owl._

_xoxo,_

_Hermione _

The letter warmed his spirits for the next few days, but Charlie could hardly contain himself. When Thursday rolled around, and then Friday, with no word from the witch, Charlie took off for the weekend with Regine's blessing. ("I've been telling you for years, Charlie, you don't spend enough time with your family.")

Charlie packed his bags and Apparated to the Burrow, where his mother was inside cooking, as usual. Upon seeing the rest of his family present, Charlie realized that Friday had become the new family dinner night. The twins with their girlfriends, Bill and Fleur, Ginny and Harry. Among all of the brothers present, he and Ron were the only two unattached – well, visibly unattached. Charlie didn't know about Ron, but he was hoping to be attached to Hermione soon enough.

Dinner was overwhelming, but as always, it was wonderful to see his family. Having gotten used to the solidarity and loneliness at the reserve, Charlie was always a little quiet at these dinners, and his presence (and lack thereof) was noted upon several times, as was Percy's, and finally, Hermione's.

"I haven't heard from Hermione in days," Molly lamented. "Have you heard from her, Ronniekins? Harry?"

"No, Molly. I haven't seen her since you sent her off after Charlie," Harry intoned, and Ron, his mouth full, shook his head in the negative.

When the line of conversation continued on about Hermione, and how worried they were at her absence, Charlie finally spoke up.

"I got an owl from her a few days ago, Mum. She said she was near a breakthrough on her research and had been underground since she got back from Russia with me."

The table quieted and eyes cast curiously to Charlie. "She understands the work-a-holic in me. We got on well." They had no idea how well.

Molly and most of the rest of the family seemed to take his word, but the twins and Ginny kept glancing curiously at him. Dessert passed lazily, and then Charlie helped round up the dishes. He and Ginny ended up washing while Ron dried. Ginny kept trying to talk about Hermione, but Charlie deflected most of it, trying to save face in front of Ron. He believed, informed through his infrequent visits, that Ron still carried something of a flame for the woman, even though he had long since acknowledged their incompatibility. When Ron finally wandered off, the dishes completed, Ginny shut the kitchen door behind him.

"Spill."

"Spill what, Gin-bug?"

She smiled a little at the nickname, but she resumed her interrogation. "What happened between you and Hermione? I'm not Ron or Mum, I can pick up on these things. I've never seen you so red as when you were talking about her, and I know it wasn't the chili – it wasn't even spicy."

"Nothing, Ginny."

"You slept with her, didn't you?"

Charlie's mouth fell open and he was speechless, blushing again.

"I thought so." Ginny smiled smugly and turned around to start putting away the dry dishes that Ron had left.

"Ginny, how can you know something like that?"

"Because I know Hermione. She's had her knickers in a twist since she and Krum split, she barely dates, and she can't have been getting laid. Contrary to popular belief, Hermione knows something other than books. When she and I were living together, right after the war, Krum was over all the time, and Merlin knows how many times she forgot to silence that bloody bedroom. Hermione is a minx when she wants to be. And let's face it, Charlie, you're a good-looking man, even if you are my brother. No one knew how long you two would be crammed in that ruddy tent, so Harry and I were betting you two would get together."

"Gin, we've only had one date-" he protested, and was cut off.

"That doesn't mean you didn't shag. Hermione's not the prude she likes us to think she is. I can see it all over your face, Charlie. Just admit it."

Red-faced and backed into a corner, Charlie nodded slightly, and Ginny broke into a grin."

"Knew it. Harry owes me dinner. And you two – " she called toward the kitchen door, "you two owe me ten Galleons."

Charlie heard Fred or George curse outside and then the two sidled into the kitchen, pulling coins from their pockets. Piling it in her hands, the two then winked at Charlie and headed for the door.

"No way, you two. Ten Galleons _each_," Ginny called after them, and they threw the coins her way, grumbling good-naturedly.

"I'd forgotten what it was like to be around you lot. And if you'll excuse me, I'm headed to find Hermione."

He was almost at the door when Ginny called after him, "If she's really close to a breakthrough, she'll be in her laboratory. You know where it is?" Charlie shook his head, and Ginny called out an address to him. It was in Birmingham, about 100 kilometers from her home. Charlie said goodbye to his parents and siblings and Apparated away to the small town.

He wandered the streets for a few minutes before he realized it was a wizarding community, evidenced by the apothecaries and odd book stores every so often along the main boulevard. Charlie eventually found the building Hermione had rented out to house her potions lab, a derelict old building with a light burning on the main floor. He knocked on the only door he could find and was rewarded with a loud cursing spree from inside the building.

He recognized Hermione's voice call out, "Can't you see the sign?"

It was only then that he noticed the small, hand-lettered parchment that read: _Do not disturb. Solicitors not welcome._

He knocked again. "Hermione?"

The stream of cursing grew louder as Hermione made her way to the door, and upon opening the locks, Hermione was startled to find Charlie on her doorstep.

"Charlie!"

Charlie just smiled at her; she certainly was a sight. He could tell she had been running her hands through her hair, and her glasses were perched crookedly on her impish nose. An old novelty apron covered her from chest to knee, the cheerful "Kiss the Cook" splattered with potions of every imaginable color. She was barefoot, oddly enough, and held a wooden ladle in her hand, as if she were going to force Charlie from her door by whacking him around the ears.

"Hello, Mione."

"Wha- what are you doing here?" she spluttered, completely off guard.

"Took the weekend off to see my family."

"No! I mean, what are you doing _here,_ at my lab?"

"Ginny."

"Is everything okay?" Hermione's disbelief was slowly being replaced by concern.

Charlie laughed and set her fears aside. "Yes, everyone's fine, though Mum is upset you missed dinner tonight. Ginny gave me the address, suggested I come find you. Though I'm beginning to regret it - Harry's told me how you have a violent streak, and that spoon is making me nervous."

Hermione seemed to register that she was fending Charlie off with her lab equipment and giggled.

"Sorry, you just interrupted me, and this isn't the best neighborhood. I've had some unwelcome guests before."

"I'm sorry to startle you, I just wanted to see you again and didn't want to wait until your next owl."

Hermione's guarded look fell away to a brilliant smile as she stood aside to allow Charlie in the door. They made their way to the back room past shelves of ingredients, to where Hermione's cauldron stood on a stone table. It was simmering hotly, giving off a blue-tinted mist and the smell of almond and sage.

"Is this your potion?"

"Yup," Hermione grinned, standing with her arms crossed over her chest and a proud glint in her eyes. "I finally got it, I'm certain. And it was a complete accident that I figured out the last component. It will be ready in a few hours – I'm ready to test it."

"Did you bring your nail polish?"

Hermione laughed, and then shook her head. "I think I finally got it down. The horehound was a bit of a whim, but I think it's working out well. _Much_ better than the last one."

"Was something wrong with it?" Charlie queried as Hermione adjusted the heat of her cauldron.

"Well, unfortunately for my research, some of the herbs I use have multiple effects, and getting the portioning right is a tricky ordeal. The particular kind of dried periwinkle I had been using did indeed boost my mental powers, but it also made me incredibly libidinous. Fortunately, it wore off after only a couple of hours."

Charlie grinned and leaned over to kiss Hermione on the cheek above her cauldron. "Pity I wasn't around." A cheeky grin was all Charlie needed in response to come around the table and gather the witch in his arms. "I have missed you, Miss Granger."

"Likewise, Mr. Weasley." A delicate kiss ended their conversation, and when Hermione finally pulled away, she asked for the time.

"Half nine? It's really that late?" Hermione shook her head. "I came in at seven this morning. No wonder I'm famished."

"Can you leave for dinner? I ate at the Burrow, but I'd like to join you for a bite."

"Unfortunately not. I don't want to risk it this close to testing time. Tell you what," she added. "There's a great little pub down the road that serves up some great crisps and cottage pie. I don't want to leave here, but if you're amenable, you can pick us up some food and come back. We'll eat upstairs – I have a table and some chairs up there in the kitchen."

Charlie nodded, took the Galleons Hermione pushed toward him with some grumbling, and then headed off down the road. When he returned laden down with chips and pie and a few bottles of butterbeer, he found Hermione sitting crosslegged on top of her work table, her glasses perilously close to sliding off her nose into the bubbling cauldron she was peering intently into.

She heard Charlie enter and smiled. After one last glance into the cauldron, she slid from the table and removed her apron, revealing the rumpled clothing underneath – a pair of cut-off sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt of the Weird Sisters.

"Is that my sister's?"

Hermione glanced down at the shirt and nodded. "Ginny and I ended up with a lot of each other's clothing after she moved out. I'm still finding her socks, and she somehow ended up with my favorite dress."

They went upstairs to the rickety table with mismatched chairs by the upstairs window. Comfortable silence ensued as they dug in, Charlie giving in to the inevitable Weasley appetite and scarfing down all of his food and half of Hermione's chips.

By the time they finished, Hermione's watch beeped, signaling time to check on the potion. Charlie followed her downstairs, where she excitedly turned off the heat below the cauldron and dipped her ladle into the brew. She dribbled it into a handy crystal phial and then turned her bright eyes on Charlie.

"I don't normally have an audience for this kind of thing."

"Do you want me to leave?"

"No. I'm just warning you – this might actually work. I can't guarantee I won't Apparate away without warning and be working at home for hours. It's happened before. I don't want to blow you off."

"Don't worry about it. I can catch up with you tomorrow, if that happens."

Hermione nodded and thanked him, and then nervously lifted the phial to her lips. She sipped at the potion and then closed her eyes. A moment later, she gasped and tipped over into Charlie's arms.


End file.
